Chapter 4 — The Doors

Halfway down the aisle, the heavy oak doors at the back of the chapel swung wide open with a crash that echoed off the stone like a thunderclap.

And thirty men and women marched in.

They came in dress uniform — decorated veterans in flawless military Dress Blues, moving with a synchronization so perfect it did not look human, filling the entire entryway of the chapel as a wave of whispers rose from the pews.

They advanced a few paces, and then, on some signal I did not see, they split into two clean columns down either side of the aisle, and each of them drew a ceremonial steel sword, and raised it, so that the blades met in a gleaming canopy over the carpet — an honor arch, the kind reserved for the weddings of their own.

An arch over me.